Terry Simpson - Etchings of Power

Wreathed in shadow, rocky foothills appeared ahead of Irmina. Fool. Why would he come to such a remote location rather than stay in the city? Worse yet, why go into the bandit’s own territory? Even in her brief time in Ostania, she knew about the bandits who hid among the Barrier Mountains, raiding any caravans or traders who dared travel without a heavy guard contingent. She’d seen Ryne fight, but to take on ten men? The man must be insane. Jerem said he believed the man a descendant of the Eztezians, but they were supposed to be twenty feet tall. Even if it were true, surely he couldn’t hope to survive against ten men? Not even with his strange bodyguard. Battling animals was one thing, men, another. She shrugged the idea off as preposterous.

By the time she maneuvered Misty past old volcanic outcrops, the moons hung above the mountains, one chasing the other. Eerie shadows abounded, mixed with the many fissures within the rocks, and a brisk wind carried sulfur smells from the ancient volcanoes. Somewhere farther north, a grunting bark echoed. Misty issued several piercing whistles at the disconcerting bark.

Up ahead, dark silhouettes resolved into the bandit’s mounts. Irmina trilled twice to Misty-the sound coming as four, fluttering, shrill tones-swung her legs over to one side, and dismounted. The only movement ahead came from the bandit’s dartans twisting long necks to look at Irmina. The men had left them unguarded. Crossing the path she slipped by the creatures while Misty hung back close to the rocks, obeying Irmina’s command to stay.

Irmina crept among the shadowy rocks but saw no sign of the ten men. A slope jutted up ahead of her, and she darted across glassy volcanic stone until she crouched below the hill. After a few furtive glances, she crawled up the slope, careful not to slip on loose shale.

Below her, Ryne stood in a clearing at the center of a hollow, a mountain of flesh, sword, and tattoos. On the ground, a lightstone illuminated his features and the surrounding area, throwing long shadows from the skeletal trees scattered in patches around the clearing.

The dark-garbed bandits approached him from four different directions with swords out. Three stood behind one of the dead trees a few feet from the clearing’s edge. Another two squatted within the shadows provided by some tall bushes close to those three. Across the hollow’s far slope, the other five bandits slunk among the sparse vegetation. Despite the gravelly, uneven ground, the men moved in silence, their steps ghostly silent despite the slate and shale.

Irmina narrowed her eyes at the men’s unusual, noiseless movements. Brow furrowed, she engaged her Matersense.

Around her, the night bloomed with individual colors that represented Mater for her. Brown shades signified Forms. Streams hung colorless but sharp. Moonlight gave off a soft, perpetual white glow. Many other colors she couldn’t apply to an essence swirled around her. She focused on the bandits and gasped. Shade clung about them and their swords. These men possessed shaded divya.

Shade stymied the lightstone’s illumination in thick, impenetrable black blankets, except several feet from Ryne. There, the shade dissipated as if the light gobbled it up. Outside that area, shade essence sat unmoving among all others like dead weight, and these men used it to creep closer to their quarry without a sound. It appeared as if they walked on shadows.

Irmina shifted her gaze to Ryne. The giant man appeared unperturbed, the odd tattoos on his arms and the artwork drawn all over his leather armor glinting with the moonlight. He held no power from what she could tell, and yet he stood with quiet confidence as the men approached. He neither moved nor looked in any particular direction, and his oversized sword still rested in its scabbard.

Strangely, Silvereyes was nowhere to be seen.

The bandits on the hollow’s far side sneaked close enough that with a few strides they could attack. Ryne still didn’t move. Within the open space, they would surround him with ease.

Heart racing, Irmina took a deep breath. She’d never failed to carry out her orders before, and she intended on maintaining her reputation for success. Without her help, Ryne wouldn’t survive. She edged backward from the hilltop.

As she retreated, still facing the slope’s crest, the sound of clashing steel and muted, choked off cries rose from the hollow. Light bloomed from below, illuminating the night air. The essence washed out the shade. White images burnt across her vision before they faded. The sheer force of the power sent a tingle through her body as she remembered what she’d seen and felt Ryne do in the Fretian Woods.

Turning, she scrambled the rest of the way down and signaled to Misty with a single low trill, this time two wavering tones. The dartan ambled to her without a sound. She swung up onto Misty’s back and took her bow from next to the big saddle. Her hand touched the reassuring hilt of her longsword.

Battle sounds continued to surge. Then, as abruptly as they began, they stopped.

No, he mustn’t die. No . She urged Misty toward the hilltop. As they topped the rise, three trills undulating from low to high to low in a bird like song, left her lips.

Misty charged.

Irmina’s gaze flitted to the clearing, and she pulled back hard on her reins. The dartan reared to a halt with its two front feet in the air, shale and slate kicking up. Irmina gaped at the scene below her.

Ryne sauntered to the center of the clearing with his sword still sheathed. The ten men lay dead in the clearing. Each corpse lacked a head.

Ten men.

He’d defeated ten men in minutes and walked as if he was out on a leisurely stroll. Irmina snapped her mouth closed.

In each hand, Ryne carried a shaded divya . One by one, he dropped them to the ground at the middle of the clearing. He turned, his gaze rose to her, and his sword left its scabbard with a move her eyes couldn’t follow. Near blinding light flashed around the weapon. She gasped and covered her eyes.

The clang of steel on steel rang in the air. She dropped her hand from her eyes. His sword, covered in smooth light essences, rose and fell, shattering each divya . The light winked out when he finished. Another indiscernible motion followed, and his sword appeared in its scabbard once more.

“My master wishes for you to go to him,” said a soft voice behind her like ice trailing along her skin.

Irmina turned slowly, keeping her reins steady so Misty wouldn’t panic. Dressed in a long, dark Felani jacket and matching trousers, Silvereyes stood next to her. His face was all hard planes and angles, and his sandy hair was longer than she remembered. He appeared taller also. Locking gazes with her, he smiled, the expression one that could curdle milk. Her hand tightened on her bow.

“My name is Sakari. I mean you no harm.” He ignored her and glided noiselessly down the hill, his feet appearing not to touch the shale.

Irmina squinted at the places he stepped, but saw no sign of him using shade to move. She hesitated for a moment, her gaze drifting from Sakari to Ryne.

“It’s not safe out there,” Ryne called, in a voice that rumbled like a slow peal of thunder, yet clear and distinct.

The grunting bark she heard earlier echoed again, but this time from more than one direction. She peered around but saw nothing. The barks came again, this time tickling some familiarity at the back of her mind.

Lines creasing her forehead in a tight frown, she trilled once to Misty and sent her down the slope. They weaved their way past the dead trees and dry brush to the two men. As they passed the corpses, the cloying smell of blood hung thick in the air. Misty tried to reach her neck out to the fresh meat, but Irmina pulled her away. She stopped a few feet from the men, replaced her bow next to the saddle, but didn’t dismount. Broken divya glinted near where Ryne stood.